Chapter Text
The sun had hardly risen when Frodo woke, his stomach uneasy with apprehension. He’d begun to regret the promise he had made to the others, and laid in bed coming up with futile excuses that he’d warned the others he’d make when the day eventually came. They were undoubtedly expecting him to have contracted a mystery illness or Bilbo to have a sudden urgent errand only Frodo could accomplish.
More and more, he found himself wishing that Merry had forgotten, and Pippin had gotten distracted. He knew he could sway Sam should he show up at Bag-End alone.
Nevertheless, without fail, there came a knock on the door of Bag-End, and a small commotion on the other side of the door. Nothing to cause any sort of alarm, nor was the disruption as loud as he’d grown used to when the three boys waited for him outside, but loud enough to hear in his pyjamas.
He plucked himself from his bed, sleep clinging to his eyes even as he rubbed them. He’d laid out clothing for this particular occasion the day they’d struck their deal - something to convince the others he truly meant that he’d go with them. Now, however, standing in front of the trousers and vest, it hardly seemed like appropriate attire; Samwise was going to be there after all, and he was going to be wearing something...perfect, Frodo was sure of it.
After digging through his chest, Frodo decided to pull on some nicer clothes.
“Hurry up, would you?” Bilbo called from another room, grumpy with pretend fatigue. Frodo had heard him rummaging around in the kitchen hours ago, going about an early morning routine that he’d become accustomed to years ago. “If you take too much longer, I’ll have to let them in!”
Frodo rolled his eyes with a small smile as he slid on his suspenders. He looked himself over in the mirror. If he was Sam, he’d be impressed, for sure. The thought of the gardener turned his cheeks a tint pinker than he’d like, but it was only going to get worse from here on out, and he’d come to accept it.
Another knock on the door - followed by Merry’s mildly exasperated but ultimately good humored, “Come on, Frodo!” - and Frodo was out of his room, searching Bag-End for Bilbo and a book. He snatched something off the shelf that he’d read a hundred times before, seeking the comfort of familiar words, and found Bilbo pouring over some maps in the study.
When interrupted, the old hobbit had a tendency to get defensive and belligerent, so Frodo mumbled a goodbye under his breath. To his surprise, Bilbo stopped what he was doing to give Frodo a supportive look and a quick hug.
“Don’t forget a hat, lad,” he muttered, rummaging through his things only to hand Frodo a rather raggedy - and atrocious - sunhat. After a moment’s pause, he added, “You’ll be alright. Sam will be there.”
Frodo put the hat on to appease Bilbo before heading to the front door to find Sam chastising Merry and Pippin.
“Just give ‘im a moment, you two,” he was saying. “You know this ain’t his idea of a --- OH! Mister Frodo, you’re all ready?” Sam immediately took a step back from the doorway, knocking into a packed picnic basket as Merry and Pippin tripped over each other running down the path to the road. “Don't you go getting too far ahead, now!”
The gardener’s blonde hair was tucked gently into a sunhat fitting for his profession, and Frodo was relieved he’d decided upon a change of clothes because Sam was looking absolutely radiant today - more so than usual. His tanned skin was at home in the morning sun, a twinge of pink dancing across his freckled cheeks as he smiled at Frodo. They were distracted by each other for a moment longer than either of them would willingly admit.
Finally, Frodo found it in himself to speak. “We should probably be going,” he cleared his throat and reached down to grab the picnic basket at the same time as Sam. Their hands brushed for a moment before Frodo pulled away abruptly and stood up painfully straight.
The walk itself was enjoyable enough.
Sam was kind enough to ask about Frodo’s book, and they wandered off the trail just enough for Frodo to find some wildflowers to pluck for Sam who turned scarlet and chuckled at the small bouquet of daisies and queen anne’s lace that he’d procured. The queen anne’s lace began to irritate his hands not too long after being handed the bouquet, but he refused to put the flowers down until they’d reached their destination. And he tried his damnedest not to let Frodo know.
Merry and Pippin danced far ahead on the road, racing one another periodically and waiting on Sam and Frodo only to let their friends know that they were going far too slow and were going to waste the day if they kept their lazy pace. Frodo was hoping if he walked slowly enough, they’d be right, but he knew they were only being dramatic.
All too soon, in Frodo’s opinion, the horizon opened up, the shade of the trees evaporated and the smell of salt tainted every breath. They’d arrived.